When Death's Shadows Meet
by Alpha Draconis1
Summary: Morroc is about to be attacked by an army that has already destroyed Prontera and Izlude. Bear witness to the defense of a city already condemned by the rest of Midgard, now to be condemed by Hell. Three part mini-series, rated for war and violence.


The town of Morroc was not usually a hubbub of activity, at least, of the legal kind. The population seldom rose above a few hundred and varied greatly, what with everyone going to Prontera and who knows where. Mostly, Morroc was a just a passing stop for wanderers, travelers, adventurers and merchants going on their businesses, or pleasures, as the case may be. For the people who did live, or were born there, however, Morroc was a place of exotic beauty and a home at the same time.

Now, most people probably would not understand why this is so. In the land of Midgard, it didn't matter much to anyone where you were. As they said, home is where the heart is, and the heart could often be found alongside friends and guildmates, as they traversed along their adventures. The people of Morroc were different though. They were different because they were a people, and yet, unacknowledged and discouraged as a people. More specifically, they were thieves, rogues, and assassins. Even the Guides and Kafra Girls at the gates were somewhat experienced in the underground business.

It was in the nature of most thieves, rogues, and assassins to be solitary individuals. They took what they wanted, followed few rules, and killed without mercy. Yet, just as most people need some time for their selves every once in a while, so too did these lone wolves of the desert seek out company a few times. It did not happen often; once or twice, after the trauma of a first kill, and a thief might seek refuge in comforting arms, or an assassin might stumble upon one of the entrances, suffering from a grievous wound, or a rogue searching for a drinking companion in the pub. No matter what it was, in Morroc, the people who had no one else to turn to, turned to each other.

So it was that when a common threat appeared, the guilds of the assassins, thieves, and rogues would stand by each other, brothers in arms, hand in hand, and collectively backstab whomever or whatever it was that dared to try and disturb what peace the people of the desert could get.

Now, such a threat had appeared.

'It is not a threat that any of us could destroy on our own' were the thoughts that ran through Alma the Thief's head as her amber eyes watched the parched horizon, wiping sweat from her pale white hair. Such hair color was not unusual among the people of Morroc, and it was even said that they had inherited it from the steel gray hair of their patron god, Loki. Along with several dozen other thieves and a few acolytes, she formed part of the second line of defense. The rogues and assassins were at the front line. The young, female thief had barely gotten her Main Gauche in position, when the alarms began to sound as shadows appeared.

As for why the alarms were sounding, and why the assassins, thieves, and rogues were in such a position, it had all started three days ago. On that fateful day, the satellite city of Izlude came under sudden attack from the sea. Alma had not been there herself, but she recalled the stories several others who _had_ been there told. 'It hadn't been pretty', said they. Wave after wave of monsters, led by succubae, and incubi, had destroyed the city in a matter of hours. The attack came from the sea, but where these monsters had gathered, no one seemed to know.

When the city had been destroyed, they turned to their next target; Prontera. Alma remembered the words of one of the assassins who escaped from that place.

"It was a bloodbath, one that brought to my mind the stories of the grand battles between the gods and mortals of old," the assassin had said. "Incubi and Succubae would dive down from above like hawks, while Ghouls and small Baphomets would batter against the defenders. The first line of defense outside the Pronterean walls was breached in minutes. The Prontera Guards stood their ground for as long as they could with their spears but many were killed swiftly. The rest retreated into the town, and several Crusaders tried to block the gates with their shields in an attempt to stem the flow. They too, were killed. I don't know if the Royal Family escaped, but before we left, we saw the capital ablaze from the inside."

Now the battle had come to Morroc. Scouts had sighted the monsters coming from the northeast. The entirety of Morroc's people was now in battle array before the North, and East Gates. Assassins lined the front lines, with the Rogues just behind them in six groups. Along with them were a few Crusaders, Knights, Priests, Wizards, Sages, Monks, Bards, Dancers, Battle-Alchemists, and Battle-Blacksmiths; those who had come to Morroc because they wanted to avenge Prontera, or were cut off from going to Payon by the arrival of the monster horde. Hunters and Archers lined the upper walls, along with a few dozen bow-wielding thieves. Those few Acolytes, Mages, Swordsmen, Merchants, and Alchemists who were hesitant to face the battle directly stayed in the second line, along with the thieves. All of them were waiting silently for any indication of battle. Alma gave thanks to the god Loki that somehow, there was not a single Novice among them.

The shadows in the distance soon grew large in Alma's vision to reveal a ragged band of thieves; scouts who used their ability to hide to spy on the advance of the enemy. They entered the North Gate, breathing hard. It took just one phrase from the lips of the foremost thief to discern the cause.

"They're here."

Several Priests and Acolytes rushed forward to help the group inside the city. The gates were once again closed, but this time, everyone was braced for battle. Minutes later, they had confirmation shriek down at them from above. As with Prontera, the winged humanoid demons called Succubae and Incubi were the first to attack from above, trying to create breaches in the defense before the main battle. A hail of stones, arrows, and fireballs answered them as those defenders with ranged abilities unleashed their attacks.

The demons dispersed, shrieking as projectiles impacted, several going down in flames or as pincushions. An unknown signal from their masters sent forth a dozen hawks tearing with beak and talon into the aerial melee, destroying whatever cohesion the attackers had. Still, not all of them were driven back. Shouts among the bowmen gave signs to what was happening, but it wasn't until an Incubus soared overhead and dropped a Huntress' head on the sand that the idea of casualties began to take root.

Still, they were people of the desert, used to the harsh ways of the land. None of the Morrocans gave more than a glance or a prayer for the casualties, and none of them panicked or gave way. Their resolve and seeming calm comforted even those who weren't part of their guild.

The aerial assault began to abate almost as quickly as it had begun, thanks to the response of the defenders. Those few left flew back north to what could only be the mass of their demonic army. Behind them, they left the corpses of the fallen demons, on the ground, on the walls, and even inside the city. The outsides of the walls were streaked with blood, both human and demon, but the defense held.

Then the horde came. Alma couldn't see them, but she could hear the shouts of those on the wall, as well as the heavy clatter and pounding of hundreds upon hundreds of paws and feet on the ground from outside. At the two defended gates, Crusaders started to ready their shields while Priests, Dancers and Bards began to cast spells that made the defenders faster, stronger, and more powerful. For a moment, the city was alit with the glow of magic, and Alma smirked at the thought of what the demon horde must be seeing; Morroc bathed in what could only be holy light. Then the beautiful sound of stringed instruments rose in the air as the Bards began to play their hearts out, accompanied by the lashes of whips in complete rhythm. Even the Crusaders and Knights joined in; gauntleted fists knocked against the back of shields, and spears pounded into the sand, creating a staccato that joined in time with the songs of the Bards while arrows wistled overhead to strike deep into undead flesh; a battle hymn mostly without words, or even a coordinator, but nonetheless sounding beautiful and triumphant to the defenders.

The monsters outside must have been enraged at the display of musical sound and light, for moments later the pounding on the heavy gates drowned out the pounding of the spears and shields. As one, the entire lines of Assassins and Rogues disappeared from view. None could see them except for the trained eye of those who knew the skills it took.

But whatever admiration was held for the mass disappearing act was put aside as the Northern Gate, and the Eastern gate were ripped or smashed from their hinges by scythes. In came the lesser Baphomets, small satyr-like demons that carried scythes almost twice their height, and Ghouls, undead beings who would rip into a human body in a hungry frenzy. To their eyes, the only defenders they could see were the paltry group of Crusaders, Knights, and magic-users. Alma could have sworn that the demons laughed, seeing what looked like a pathetic group of humans. The undead warriors charged the visible foremost defenders, the Crusaders, with glee.

The first and second wave was immediately cut down as katars and daggers flashed out, almost out of thin air, as the line of Assassins and Rogues revealed themselves to normal sight. A murmur of "Grimtooth" sounded through the air at the first blow, followed by the cry of "Back Stab!" as the Rogues joined the melee. Bolts from above and behind decimated the third wave of monsters as the thieves, archers, and hunters let loose every shaft they had. Traps lay in intricate formations specifically designed to slow down the flow with the bodies they captured activated, and many a monster died before it could even catch sight of the city interior. The ground was littered with monster blood and bodies in milliseconds. It was a swift and deadly blow to the demon army and only to be expected from the guilds known to strike from the shadows, but the rest of the mob kept pouring in. The line of Assassins and Rogues used their incredible speed to dodge the attacks, some of them jumping up on rooftops, over the heads of their enemies, while others struck once to poison an enemy, then retreated before the blood even latched onto the blade.

The kill ratio, already so high in favor of the defenders, reached new levels as the Knights and spell-users added their own attacks to the battle. Monsters were thrown back against the walls of the city to slump down unconscious, ice covered the breached gates, slowing down further entry, flames blazed, scorching necrotic flesh, while angels suddenly appeared, singing songs that could only mean death to the undead. Scythes battered against shields in vain, and paws scrabbled for skin that was too quick and slipped away.

Alma debated with herself on whether to join the battle. If she left the second line, there could be an unexpected breach. If she stayed, she would have to wait and watch others fight and die. Already she could see casualties; a Knight who bashed several monsters into the walls was himself sliced in two by a scythe, an Archer found himself mobbed by frenzied Ghouls, his arrows spent, and she could see several Priests teleporting from place to place in an effort to heal the wounded and escape being wounded themselves.

A hand tapped on her shoulder, and she turned around, intending to snap whomever had interrupted her internal argument. Her breath caught as she recognized the man who looked down upon her.

"Guild Master!"

The man who was known by no name other than his title, yet famed for his proficiency with both katars and daggers nodded at her. He pressed something into her hand, and she looked down to see a bow and quiver.

"You want to fight," he said, "so fight with these until the time comes for you to use your true skills."

She nodded, too dumbstruck to speak. Then he was gone, into the forefront of the melee, and Alma found herself holding the bow. She took a deep breathe, then attached the quiver to her belt, took an arrow, bent the bow, and took aim at a Succubus harassing the thieves at the top wall. The teenage crook-in-training let go of the shaft, and the bolt sped towards its target. The Succubus didn't even see it as it penetrated the left side of her head. The demon fell into the crowds below, where Ghouls descended upon it, not caring if the flesh was of the enemy or their own.

She pulled another arrow from the quiver and repeated the motions, her arrows striking vital areas of the body, long memorized from the teachings of her guild. Yet she could see that the battle was turning against them as time wore on. Several Crusaders had already retreated, their wounds still bleeding, and their broken shields left behind. The bowmen on the top of the walls too were forced to retreat as the defending melee fighters in front of them either fell back or fell dead.

Just then, a lesser Baphomet tried to slash at her with its scythe. Alma dropped the bow and lashed out with her knife in a hurry, nicking the satyr across the eyes as she barely dodged the next swipe. The goat-like creature uttered an unearthly sound in pain, and then tried to swipe again, even though it had lost sight of its intended victim. In the next instant, a whip wrapped around the lesser Baphomet's right arm, cutting into the skin, and tore off the arm from the shoulder downwards. Alma looked to her unexpected helper and found a Dancer still in a pirouette.

"Try to be more careful next time, honey", she said, and bounded away, still dancing, before Alma could thank her. Not that thieves were known for thanking people anyway. She caught sight of a swordsman trying to fend off two ghouls to her right and quickly ran up to the nearest one, stabbing it in the back of the neck. Then she jumped backwards, and with two successive swipes of her right arm, disabled another Baphomet who had been trying to slice into a mage.

Without her realizing it, the battle had already reached the second defense lines.

She found her arms suddenly held back to her sides by a strong grip, and a sensuous voice whispered into her ear, "That's quite enough trouble you've caused today, little miss. Mind if I show you something more pleasurable?"

Not wanting to hear anymore, she used her legs as levers against the ground and tumbled forwards, freeing herself from the Incubi's grip. Alma immediately followed the actions by hiding herself in plain sight, and she could hear the Incubi's curse as it realized its prey had escaped. A moment later, she heard it scream, and Alma broke out of hiding to see the Incubi with an axe sticking out between his shoulder blade and neck. The merchant girl who had struck him was trying to pull out the weapon, but the demon was struggling too hard. Alma didn't waste anymore time and leapt forward, slicing the demon's throat open. It gurgled for a moment before going down in a bloody heap.

Alma turned to the merchant girl and this time, remembered to thank her.

"Thanks."

"No problem", the merchant replied, and gave her a white potion. "Here. For your arms."

Then she melted back into the crowds. Alma looked down at her arms and realized that there were gashes all along their length in the shape of fingers. She hadn't felt the pain from the Incubi's embrace at all. With a few drops from potion, the gashes healed, then turned into scabs, and flaked away. The skin was still raw, but that would have to wait.

A sudden change in the atmosphere caused Alma to look in the direction of the Northern Gate. The defenders there were suddenly falling back, many of them wounded with huge slashes across the chest, midsection, or limbs. Alma even saw one poor soul on the ground, whose manner of dress identified as a Rogue, but with no other way of identification because the face had been sliced open, with the brains now hanging out. Already a Ghoul was feasting on one of the arms.

The cause, she saw, was a trio of greater Baphomets. At over twice the height of the smaller Baphomets, these were undeniably the bosses of the army, leaders of the mob, and hard to defeat. Their scythes were longer, more slender than the standard scythe, and the blades were longer as well. Their arms were thicker than Alma's waist, and their horns rivaled their scythes in length and sharpness. Bellowing loudly, they had sliced their way into battle, cutting shields open, breaking spears, and ripping through armor.

One of them confronted two Assassins who tried to stop their advance. The Assassins lashed out with their poisoned katars and daggers, but the Baphomet seemed not to heed the bleeding wounds being inflicted upon it. Its arms went up over its head, spinning the deadly scythe in the air, until it finally brought the weapon down, diagonally swiping at the two Assassins. One of them was caught in the blade's path, and the metal bit just under the arm, ripping upwards through the torso, and almost tearing the body in two. The other Assassin dashed backwards, managing to evade the strike. His companion now dangled lifelessly from the scythe's edge. With a flick of the weapon, the Baphomet sent the cadaver over the walls to the desert outside. Howls of delight greeted the act from the Ghouls outside, while the lesser Baphomets cackled in appreciation of their master's power. And the greater Baphomet wasn't finished yet.

It charged at the remaining Assassin, and swiped horizontally with the scythe. The Assassin dodged the attack and returned a stab of his own from the katars, but the Baphomet turned and twisted its head, catching the man with its horns. Proceeding to shake its head about, it started to gore into the Assassin like the man was a rag doll, until a book struck it squarely in the jaw. The Baphomet fell back, more from surprise than from being actually hurt by a mere book, but it was enough for the female Acolyte who had thrown the mace to come forward and begin healing the fallen Assassin. It was a reckless move, and the Baphomet wasn't about to let it succeed. Intending to gore the two humans, it charged again.

Seeing this, Alma ran to the scene, picked up a stone, and threw it at the Baphomet. The distraction worked, and the large satyr overlord almost stumbled, before it fixed its gaze at the one who had committed the act.

"Oh, damn!" was Alma's only utterance as she turned tail and ran towards the southern wall with the Baphomet in pursuit. Other humans got out of the way as Alma and the Baphomet ran through, her speed and agility barely saving her from the goat-like demon's blade. For it's own part, the greater Baphomet had seemed to acquire a single mindedness for it's target; even though it had only taken Alma a stone to get the creature's attention, it now ignored the arrows, stones, and spells the other defenders threw at it in favor of running down its prey. An ice wall that some kind Wizard had put up to help Alma was demolished and a trap that the satyr stepped on didn't seem to phase it in the least. It continued its pursuit, even as Alma reached the center of the city and leapt clear across the water, not caring to take the bridge.

The Baphomet followed Alma's example and leapt over the water too. It fell short, and a loud splash was heard throughout embattled Morroc as the Baphomet sank. Instantly, an ice spell froze the water around it, trapping it underneath. The creature pounded against the ice, but with no ground to push against, it failed to break through, and drowned with no other sign than its fading gurgles and pounding.

Alma sighed in relief, and dropped to her knees, tired from the fighting and the quick dashes she had just pulled off. A second later, she was pulled to her feet by her arm, and she looked up to see a female Rogue glaring down at her.

"What do you think you were doing, little thief, trying to take on that thing?"

"Hey, it isn't any crazier than the lot of us trying to take on the entire army in the first place!" Clearly, Alma didn't like being scolded. The Rogue just smiled at her retort.

"Looks like you have a lot more spunk in their than some of these buttheads. But spunk will only get you killed in this kind of situation. Now, head to the pyramids. The Guild Master has ordered a retreat to headquarters and the rookies are supposed to go first, get ready, before we retreat ourselves."

"Why do we always have to be in the second line?" Alma muttered to herself under her breath, but the Rogue heard it anyway. There was no time for retorts however, as several explosions followed by beastly roars were heard. They turned to the Eastern Gate to see two more greater Baphomets explode, destroyed by the Asura Strikes of four Monks. But the Monks themselves were collapsing from exhaustion. Alma made to go to them, but was stopped by the Rogue.

"You head on over to the pyramids, rookie. _I'll_ help them."

Alma scowled, but didn't say anything in return. She just turned and ran for the Northwest gate as fast she could. Hopefully, they would be able to mount a last-ditch defense there, and hold out long enough for reinforcements to come.

As for who would care enough about the outlaws of Morroc to actually send reinforcements, she didn't want to think about.


End file.
